


Passenger To London

by Lothiriel84



Series: Consulting Matchmaker [1]
Category: Cabin Pressure, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Matchmaker Sherlock, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-06
Updated: 2014-07-06
Packaged: 2018-02-07 18:06:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1908654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lothiriel84/pseuds/Lothiriel84
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This was just her luck, being stranded at Dublin Airport on Christmas Eve.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Passenger To London

**Author's Note:**

> The title is a reference to the novel _Passenger to Frankfurt_ by Agatha Christie.

This was just her luck, being stranded at Dublin Airport on Christmas Eve. When she checked her phone she found she’d got a text from John and Mary, which she didn’t reply to, and surprisingly enough one from Sherlock too.

_Are you going to be at John and Mary’s tonight?_

_Sorry_ , she typed with nervous fingers. _My flight has been cancelled, I’m still in Dublin._

Sherlock didn’t reply to that, and she sank back onto one of the plastic chairs of the waiting room. It wasn’t like she had someone actually waiting for her at home, but she still felt a bit sad at the thought of spending Christmas all by herself in an airport.

Her phone buzzed again, and she marvelled that Sherlock had deigned her with another text message.

_There’s a charter jet leaving from Dublin Airport in less than two hours. The captain owes me a favour, he’ll be glad to give you a lift._

Molly blinked in surprise. Sherlock being nice to her was definitely a first, though she knew she’d better not read anything into it; the man just wasn’t interested in her that way, but it still was nice to have him as a friend of sorts.

She allowed herself a wistful smile and tried to come up with a suitable thank you message.

 

* * *

 

“Doctor Molly Hooper?” someone called at length, and she heaved a sigh of relief. “Captain Martin Crieff, MJN Air.”

The man held out a hand which she shook gratefully, only to pause when she got a proper glimpse of his face. He might be an airline pilot, but he still bore an uncanny resemblance to a certain consulting detective; if it hadn’t been for his ginger curls and his average height, she would have probably called him Sherlock.

It didn’t matter though; all that mattered was that she was going to be home soon, and hopefully get to spend the night with her friends. That was what Christmas Eve was for after all.

“Looking forward to the festivities?” she asked in a polite attempt to make conversation. Captain Crieff had kindly offered to take her bag, and was now leading the way to his plane.

“I, hum, I can’t say I am. I’m not that big on Christmas, you know; it was actually a relief when my cousin called me.”

“Your cousin?” she frowned, not entirely sure what he was talking about.

“My cousin, Sherlock. He’s the one who booked the flight. I take it he’s a friend of yours, isn’t he?”

Oh. That definitely explained the resemblance, though she couldn’t quite see how it fitted with the ‘owing a favour’ part. “I guess he is. He told me you were in Dublin already though.”

The man bit at his lower lip, as if he’d just realised he wasn’t supposed to tell her that. “I didn’t say I wasn’t,” he countered somewhat half-heartedly, as if he couldn’t believe his own lie.

“Please, tell me that Sherlock didn’t trick you into giving up your plans for the night.”

He shook his head, a resigned look settling on his features. “My only plan for the night was sitting in front of my computer and pretending to fly an aeroplane. This way I get to fly a real one instead.”

Molly swallowed around the lump that had settled in her throat. That was the saddest thing she could think of, even worse than being largely ignored by her own friends.

An odd rush of sympathy stirred deep inside of her; the man that was standing in front of her looked so kind and yet so desperately lonely, and she knew that feeling far too well for her liking.

“What about having a drink?” she said impulsively. “When we land, I mean. That is, if you want to – which you probably don’t – dear me, that was awful, wasn’t it?”

Judging from the delighted grin that broke on Martin Crieff’s face, it probably wasn’t as awful as she thought. “I would love to,” he murmured in a soft voice, and she found herself smiling back at him for no clear reason.

 

* * *

 

A flight and many drinks later she found herself fumbling for the keys to her flat.

“Here, let me,” Martin offered, and held the door open for her. “Are you alright?”

“Better than I’ve been in years,” she beamed happily, tugging at the sleeve of his uniform so that he would follow inside. She might be a bit tipsy, but nothing more than that; they’d been having so much fun, exchanging stories about Sherlock and the rest of his family, and now she was determined to make the best of whatever remained of the evening.

He reached out to steady her, and she felt her breath catch in her throat at the mere touch of his hand. “You’re not one of them,” she muttered huskily. “You’re not a bloody Holmes that doesn’t give a damn about feelings.”

“Technically, I am a bit. My mother is a Holmes, as I believe I’ve mentioned before.”

Goodness, she loved it when he talked like that. On a sudden impulse she grabbed his tie and crashed her mouth against his own, his stifled gasp only spurring her even further.

Martin was neither a psychopath nor a witless moron; he was a sweet, decent man who actually bothered to notice her when he looked in her direction, and she wanted him so very much.

And given his enthusiastic reaction, he wanted her about as badly as she wanted him.

 

* * *

 

Molly woke up in the morning to find her airline pilot sprawled under her, his fingers tracing mysterious patterns on her skin. It was only then that she remembered she’d missed the celebrations at the Watsons’ house, though she couldn’t be farther from regretting it.

“Hi,” she mumbled affectionately, seeking his lips for a gentle kiss. He didn’t quite reciprocate though, and she pulled back, bracing herself for being let down once more; that was the story of her life after all.

“How long have you been in love with Sherlock?” he enquired after an awkward silence, and she felt herself blush under his gaze.

“As long as I’ve known him, I guess,” she reluctantly admitted. “It’s more of a hopeless crush, really, and I’m done with sociopaths anyway.”

“I see,” he replied flatly, and that was when realisation hit her at last.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean you to think – you’re not a replacement for Sherlock, I promise.”

“Am I not?” he double-checked, doubt apparent in his eyes. “Why else would you even bother to look at me twice?”

“Because you make me feel like I’m not just another piece of furniture,” she blurted out before she could stop herself, not quite prepared for how Martin’s eyes widened at her words.

“You’re one of the kindest, most beautiful women I’ve ever happened to meet. How could anyone fail to notice that?”

After that, he didn’t get the chance to say anything – not for quite a long time, at the very least.

 

* * *

 

Later on they were cuddled up together on her sofa watching a film and exchanging lazy kisses when her phone buzzed with an incoming text message.

_Enjoyed your flight?_

She snorted and typed up a quick reply. _I actually did. A lot._

 _Good for you_ , Sherlock answered a moment later. _Tell Mr Pilot he definitely owes me one now._

 _Shut up_ , she texted back, then dropped her phone and snuggled further into her new boyfriend’s embrace. Martin smiled and dropped a kiss on top of her head.


End file.
